Well I've been toning up my back
For a stint against the wall,
Because that's where it's going to be
When more towers collapse,
Their foundations rumbled by
A badly eq-ed bass guitar.
And you've clearly taken a rational,
Politically well-informed decision
To never bother tuning up your guitar
To enhance your postcard anarchism.
Conservatism
With no sense
Of rhythm,
Reactionaries
With discharge LP's.
And maybe if I spit and throw another bottle
At a cartoon cop I haven't tried to understand
Then the fag-tax down-trodden masses
Will rise up to a utopia based on free alcohol.
With studded wrist bands and a neatly spiked hair
As a battering ram against perspex and oppression,
You're a Tommy Hilfiger for the revolution,
So who cares about the music
If you pull the right styles?
Conservatism
With no sense
Of rhythm,
Reactionaries
With discharge LP's.
One more power chord and the system's done for,
One more pair of lace-up boots
And the system's fucked for sure.
Conservatism
With no sense
Of rhythm
Say nothing, see nothing,
Hear nothing, do nothing.
It's not a
Game
It's not
A game
To all of us,
To all of us.
To every single all of us, one more
Minor
Seventh?
And your pipedream
Is buttfucked
Is buttfucked
And done for.
Writer(s): Julia Ruzicka, Benjamin Russell Erring Dawson, Frank Turner, Cameron David Dean
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com